Carry On My Wayward Son
by Rivvin Hawke
Summary: Having been forced to choose between Anders and Fenris, Mages and Templars, Rivvin Hawke made a decision that would change his life forever .. and now, he wishes the world to know his story.
1. Exodus

**Title: Carry on My Wayward Son**

**Rating: **Mature, _just in case_

**Pairing:** m!Hawke/Anders

**Summary: **_Having been forced to choose between Anders and Fenris, Mages and Templars, Rivvin Hawke made a decision that would change his life forever .. and now, he wishes the world to know his story._

**Introduction: The Hawke Manifesto**

They say one must start at the beginning, and when one is telling the tale of the beginning of the end, well, the beginning is -definitely- the place to start. Still with me after that bit of head-scratching nonsense? Good. Because, unfortunately, not all of this is going to make sense, messeres. A story of revolution, love, betrayal, and politics does not always make the best of sense, you see. But, as long as someone may one day stumble upon this and take from it a lesson of understanding, then everything will have been worth it. No matter how it ends.

So, let us get to the bare basics, shall we? My name is Rivvin Hawke, and I am the Champion of Kirkwall. By the time someone finds this, I have a feeling that name and title will have become a stigma as abhorred and hated as the titles of Blood Mage, Abomination, and Demon. I assure you, the events that led to the downfall of the Hawkes was not intentional, or in any way planned by me. And let it be known, I was not a Blood Mage when Kirkwall fell. That is a heinous rumor started by a Lyrium twisted bitch who could not stand the thought of any one else being recognized as a protector of Kirkwall. Sometimes, I find myself wondering if this could have been prevented if I had never been given that Title. But, no .. this is all far larger than a simple Apostate who had the courage, the -balls- to have a life outside of the Circle and the oppression it represents! This is about the evolution of human nature, and the need for equality. This is about facing fear and having the guts to embrace acceptance, rather than hide behind subjugation.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. The reason for these .. memoirs, I guess, is a good enough word, is the hope I have that maybe, one day, people will understand the decisions I made, and the reason the existence of Thedas will never be the same again. As stated earlier, the beginning is the best place to start.

**Chapter 1: Exodus**

A sickly sky the color of half burnt driftwood seemed to paint the perfect picture of the emotion and turmoil that ran through our small group of survivors as we made our way clear of the city of Lothering; another mark of blackness in the tapestry of the Fifth Blight. The taint of Darkspawn had cut a swath of death and decay across the Southern edge of Ferelden, and the villagers of Lothering could feel that darkness creeping up to nip at their heels. Ever proud, ever stubborn, so many refused to evacuate until it was too late; innocent lives plucked from the face of Thedas and returned to the Maker's side all for the sake of human entitlement and the belief of ownership over the land. They could not abandon their farms, their village, even if it meant saving their life.

My family did not cling to a farm, or a homestead; we did not worry about what possessions we could drag along the dusty roads in the course of our escape. We only worried about the life left behind. My brother. The fool was far too happy to run off to Ostagar and face down the darkspawn before this could all actually be called a Blight. He saw the downfall of King Cailan, and ran for all that he was worth. He was -not- a coward! An idiot, sure .. a fool, a dumbass, an annoying pain in my backside that seemed to know every button to push to drive me into a frenzy of anger and uproar! But -never- a coward. He fought right alongside the bravest, but he was not so foolish as to die simply because he was there, and there were blades waiting to cut his throat while everyone else retreated.

Mother .. poor, sweet Mother, she refused to budge a single inch until news of Carver's death or escape reached her ears in Lothering. With Father killed by a band of thieves and cutthroats three years past, she would be damned if she left without news of her youngest. And it came, eventually, in the form of a half-dead Carver huffing and puffing to catch his breath as he berated me for not getting the others out sooner. Of course, if I -had- left already, and he managed to catch up with us, he would have demanded to know why I had not waited for him. Any action taken by me was a slight against my brother's very existence. The fact that I -lived- was an affront to him .. and yet, that never stopped me from loving him. A fool brother is, after all, still a brother.

There were four of us in the beginning; My Mother, me, and my brother and sister, twins, Bethany and Carver. My brother had studied in the arts of the Warrior. And my sister and I .. well .. we were Apostates; Mages that -dared- to live outside of the Circle of Magi, that -dared- to believe freedom is a natural, Maker-Given right, no matter what manner of creature you are! Yes, Mages are different, they carry the power of magic in their veins, but is that any reason to rip us from the arms of our Mothers and Fathers and sequester us in prisons around Thedas! No! That is as unnatural as telling a Dwarf they may never leave Orzammar, or telling an Elf they have no right to exist outside of the forests, or as anything more than a common slave! You would no sooner cut a warrior's hands from their bodies, or rip the tongue from a bard for the simple act of existing, so why do they insist on trying to lock away a Mage's Maker-Given talents! Andraste said that Magic should serve man, not rule over it .. in no way did she preach the Domination of Mages by the Chantry! But, I digress .. we are speaking of the beginning, not the end.

Once Carver was in tow, cursing and belittling me with every labored breath that squeaked past his lips, we began to run. Oh, we didn't just run, we made a bloody -art- of running! We dodged the darkspawn as if we were Grey Wardens capable of sensing their presence .. not that it lasted, of course. One moment, we were running down the winding rock paths that lead away from Lothering, the next, the darkspawn were hot on our heels, the stench of darkness and decay clinging to them as they tried to end our lives. There is a certain exhilaration in fighting to survive, in doing everything possible to retain one's life, but even in the midst of that struggle, that exhilaration, I found myself terrified that I would lose my family. Father was gone, Bethany and I were considered abominations against the Maker for refusing the embrace of the Circle, and Carver ... anger me as much as he does, he is my Brother, and I love him dearly.

Together, Bethany and I dispatched a large group of darkspawn while Carver did everything he could to protect Mother, though she was exhausted and already so mentally strained that it is a wonder my brother did not have to carry her at that point. Maybe it would have been better if Bethany carried her ... or at least allowed Mother to lean upon her, to draw upon her strength. Maybe things would have been different ... A lesson, to whoever is reading this; Regret is the greatest pain of existence. It will gnaw at your sanity, erode your emotions, and rob you of every identifiable characteristic that, well, makes you, you. Regret is a greater danger than any Blood Mage, demon, or Abomination.

We continued onward until we ran into the impossible; a Templar in the darkspawn infested paths leading away from Lothering. Now, there is something you must understand; Templars were not that big a deal in Lothering, not in the days before the Fifth Blight began. They kept to themselves, we kept to ourselves. They did not actively hunt Apostates unless they were foolishly making themselves known. And even then, the Templars usually found some way to find you help, rather than turn you over to the Circle. There were a few that were troublesome when we were kids, but they never lasted very long. It seemed, no sooner did they 'rock the boat,' than they found themselves missing, or relocated. What happened to the ones that went missing, I'm not sure. It was rumored that they were sent south to the Wilds, where the Witch of the Wilds disposed of them .. but those were just Rumors.

The Templar was a man named Ser Wesley, and like most Templars from various parts of Ferelden, he had a self-righteous stick shoved so far up his arse that he could do little more than regurgitate the mantra of the Chantry, despite the fact that my sister and I had just burned our way through a large horde of darkspawn to try and save the life of himself and his pretty wife, Aveline! He had the gall to immediately cry Apostate and when he dared step toward my sister as if he would apprehend, or execute her right there on the spot, it took all of my willpower not to reach out and snap his puny neck! Sorry, again, that is probably more than you need to know, and I am sure that it does very little to dissuade whatever rumors have begun to creep up about my hate for Templars and the Chantry, and my hand in the events that precede these memoirs. However, I am using this as an example; despite the fact that Bethany and I had done nothing more than try to save Wesley and Aveline from the horde, the Templar thought us wrong, undeserving of freedom or rights. He would have killed us on the spot, put himself, his wife, and my family in danger, simply because the -Chantry- said so.

And yes, I'll be the first to admit that I was not so .. disgusted by the Chantry part of the Templars at that point. I was still young, naive, even. Not innocent. I had not been truly innocent for so long. But, I was naive enough to think it -unfair- that the Templar could see us in such a light, after what had happened. He hurt my feelings. I know how childish that sounds, but he did, and I was more wounded than angered. I should have been pissed. But anger is something I learned later. Maybe .. maybe if I had stayed naive, stayed young, then I would not have played a part in all of this. Yeah, and if wishes were sovereigns, I'd own Thedas right now, and none of this would matter. Hope, wishing, and regretting are never worth it.

Aveline convinced Ser Wesley that the Maker understood the fact that Bethany and I were Apostates, since we had been in the right place, at the right time, to help save their lives. I wonder if Aveline regrets ever meeting me? I wonder if they -all- regret meeting me .. if they daydream of lives that never intersected with mine, that never placed them in the path of such horrible destruction .. but again, wishes and all of that ...

So, Aveline and her wounded husband joined our little band of rabble and those of us that were capable of fighting, everyone but Wesley and Mother, continued to fight our way through the seemingly unending creatures that continued to pour from the hillsides to try and kill us. We were doing really good, grabbing what we could that looked useful along the way. Yes, that's right, I am admitting to the looting of corpses, the picking of locks on treasure chests, and the gathering of herbs and what not as we needed them. It may not be the most pleasant of thoughts, but those acts saved our lives .. and I am sure hundreds of others were doing the same thing all along the routes out of Lothering. Just as I know that if we had died on the wayside, others would have picked our carcasses clean for anything that would give them a fighting chance to continue forward. And they would have my -blessing- to do so. I would rather they get some benefit from those things I no longer need, than to fall to some creatures blade for want of what they could have taken from a dead body. It is morbid, but so is life.

Unfortunately, our luck did not hold out. We had found a clear route toward the Korcari Wilds, had battled down the newest band of Hurlocks when the ground began to shake and tremble beneath our booted feet. I watched with a detached confusion as a group of rocks began to shimmy and shake, seeming to dance across the ground as if trying to escape something. In the next moment, a spittle spewing Ogre crested the hill in front of us, charging with a berserkers singular concentration, and I had never been so afraid in my life. Maybe that is why I hung back, maybe that is why my staff did not raise to begin combat. In the next moment, Bethany was there, praying to the Maker that men used to condemn us with, to give her strength. She charged the Ogre, staff raised high, features contorted in a mask of adrenaline induced rage and Hawke born determination. She was determined and stubborn like the rest of us.

The Ogre plucked her from the ground like some child's harvest doll, and the horror of warmth that smelled like copper splattering my face and clothes finally spurred me into action. With Carver and Aveline at my side, we charged. I remember the sound of swords cutting flesh, of shields bouncing off armour as the other two struggled to take the creature down. I raised my staff, cast spell after spell; ice, fire, so many elements rained down upon the unearthly bastard that had taken my sister from me, until I finally reached back to grab the only blade I ever carried. In a fit of rage and vengeance, I climbed the Ogre's body and stabbed that blade deep into it's brain, killing it as painfully as I could.

Even as it's body, now limp and still warm with the heat of escaping blood that poured from so many lacerations across it's form, fell to the ground with a sickening thud that once more shook the Earth, I could feel the emptiness spreading through out me. The Creature's death did nothing to alleviate the pain of my sister's murder. It only got worse after that. I had to turn and watch my Mother cradling my sister's bloodied, lifeless body, telling her that she could wake up again. I remember those words .. they were almost identical to the words I whispered when I knelt beside my Father's prone form three years prior, begging him to wake up, to be alright. The death of my Father was the first time I used my magic to hurt another person. I killed the bandits that killed him, and it did very little to erase that pain then, so I am not sure why I expected this time to be any better. Again, naive, almost childish.

Then the blame came. Of course Mother would look at me square in the eyes, tears streaking her weathered cheeks, and tell me it was all my fault. I had -failed- to protect my Sister .. -I- let her die. I could have been faster, stronger, BETTER. In that moment, the first seed of adulthood had truly begun to take hold. In that moment, I learned guilt, regret, and blame. My shoulders sagged with the burden of death, of loss, and the knowledge that it was all my fault. Silently, I bore that accusation, my young heart taking it as the sort of irrefutable fact only a Parent can speak. Mother said it, therefore, it was true. I was a failure. I had the cheeks and hands dipped in blood as further proof.

But grief was not a luxury we could afford at that moment. Bceause they were still coming, swarming around us in a sea of churning, undulating monsters. Their blades were held high, their bows threaded, arrows ready to fly. And if this has in any way seemed surreal up to this point, it's about to cross the line into absurd; that does not make it any less true. Out of nowhere, a High Dragon swooped down, the smell of sulfur and ash descending upon us mere moments before flames shot from it's gaping maw, incinerating the darkspawn that waited to rip us apart. The aroma of burning flesh that had long since gone rancid with the Taint made me sick to my stomach, but I did not care about that at the moment. The only thing my exhausted mind could afford to consider was if the creature was friend or foe. Rational thought, right? As if! One did not count a High Dragon a friend, even in the tamest, best of circumstances. But I still found myself trying to decide if it would be friend or foe. Imagine my surprise, and the blow to an already half-insane mind, when that Dragon become an attractive older woman with hair like horns and eyes the most amazing color. They seemed to penetrate straight to the soul and somehow deduce my every secret without hesitation. She frightened me .. she excited me, something I had never really felt before, and at that moment, I think I would have gladly thrown myself to her feet and offered her anything she wished, if she would simply take me away from there. And my family, of course. I would always seek their safety before chasing my own happiness. Maybe the love of my family is the only reason I never fell to the curse of Blood Magic, why I never listened to the seductive whisperings of the Demons that haunt the Fade. They were once my only strength.

We left Bethany's body where it fell, we all stood back as the Dragon introduced itself as Flemeth, and made a deal to transport us away from the darkspawn, for the returned favor of delivering a talisman to a Dalish tribe that lived close to Kirkwall, the city of my Mother's ancestors, the Noble Amells. I had no choice; this strange Witch was the only one who could help me save the remainder of my family, so we agreed. I still remember how it felt to climb upon her back; the feel of her rough, leathery scales against my cheek as I lay it upon the joint of her wing. I was clinging to her back, Mother and I between her wings, Aveline settled across her neck. I could feel the power of her lift off straining against the wing joint, snapping the wing membrane taut as she caught a current of air and rode it toward our destination. It was magical .. and it was ominous in some way. The excitement of being airborne was destroyed by some dire portent that tugged at my every instinct before suddenly disappearing and leaving me in awe of the journey before us.

I remember the stench of burning darkspawn flesh mingling with ever green trees and the heady scent of wild flowers that sprouted below us as we sailed across the skies. For one, single moment, I could forget the fact that I was an Apostate that had just lost my sister, who was also my best friend, that was considered a failure that had -allowed- her die, as far as my Mother was concerned, and that my brother, my only other sibling, would have rather -I- died, because it would mean he would no longer live in my shadow. Such wonderful, brotherly love.

The journey seemed far too swift, the pain of having to climb off the Dragon's back brought a sense of loss that seemed far greater than the loss of my sister; of course, that was just because shock had still dulled my senses to the fact that I would never again see Bethany smile, or chide her for casting a spell when she knew how dangerous it was. Eventually, I would come to understand just what I had lost that day, and it would be the beginning of the hardening of a once open, loving, and -forgiving- heart. Maybe, if the blight had never happened, I would have remained in Lothering, and none of this would have happened. Or, maybe, it would have been worse. None of us could have anticipated the course that justice would take.

The end of our journey with Flemeth was abrupt, and left us standing a little ways from a small port town where we hoped to pay for a boat it Kirkwall. None of us were hopeful, of course. So many refugees were probably fleeing to Kirkwall as well, and for the moment, we were nothing more than a few added bodies in a time of sorrow and exodus.


	2. Come Sail Away

**Chapter 2: Come Sail Away**

The little port town was nothing to write home about, you know, if home weren't currently a toxic, blight infested cesspool. The town was welcoming enough, a few merchants had set up shop and hiked their prices to take advantage of desperate people who had no choice but to run and pray for the best. Maybe the Maker truly had turned his back on us; something I had never really had an opinion on one way or the other. But, when you see a dirt crusted teenage girl that is already rail thin offering to do so many unmentionable things to a 40+ year old, unscrupulous merchant for a loaf of molding bread and a sprig of elfroot to feed and care for her family, religion tends to bitch slap you across the face and force you to consider it. Of course, seeing such an injustice unfold before my eyes .. I did -not- just stand around and watch it happen. Now, something people don't seem to realize about Mages, especially us Apostates; magic is -not- the only way a Mage can fight. In fact, my Mother currently had a hold of my staff, which looked more like a long scythe, so that no one would question me lugging it around. When I saw the Merchant begin to drag the teen away by her arm, I sort of lost it. I followed them into the alley between warehouse buildings and I pulled a small, curved Ferelden knife I carried beneath my clothes, and I attacked the bastard. I killed him. Not with magic, but with rage. And there was no Demon involved. Just me, enraged and hurt at the sight of such injustice. I killed the man, then I gently took the girl by her hand, and I walked her back to his cart. With no real authority around to patrol the area, I gave her more than enough to feed and care for her family, and find a way toward a better life. I took the Merchant's wares and I distributed them amongst those gathered in the immediate area, keeping only what my family and Aveline would need to try and get a boat to Kirkwall.

It was not the most honest of moves, but it saved many lives and I stick by the decision. Again, this is an example in hopes that you will understand what happened; sometimes, the desire to help, and the need to right a wrong can blind us to bad decisions. Is it an excuse? No. It's a statement of fact. A reality of human/elf/dwarf nature.

Of course, my running off to save the day earned me further words of hateful criticism from my Brother. When Mother was occupied with Aveline, the knight struggling to get her to eat and drink something, Carver stood at my heel. He called me an idiot, blamed me for Bethany's death, said I -belonged- in the Circle. I was about one insult away from shattering his jaw, brother or not, when Aveline stepped in. She slugged her fist right across his jaw and told him that if he did not shut up, and that if his Mother overheard the childish slings and barbs he was throwing at me, she would turn him over her knee and give him what for. Honestly, by the shadowed look in his dull eyes, I'm not sure if he thought it would be embarrassing .. painful .. or fun.

Too much information? Yeah, imagine how -I- felt. However, it seemed to have the desired affect. He shoved a spoon full of gruel into his mouth and shut up long enough for me to try and think of a plan.

"Rivvin, love. I think .. I think they are about to start selling passage on the next ship. I overheard an older gentleman telling a man to start warning small groups of people. We should hurry!"

The first time my Mother mustered up the courage to speak since cradling Bethany's lifeless form close, and her words are a broken, trembled mess. If my heart were not already breaking, that would have begun it. But I did not have the time, the luxury to mourn.

"It will be alright, Mother. Carver, stay with Mother, meet us over there."

I issued the words with a veiled threat, and when Aveline turned her vivid green eyes upon my brother, he shoved the spoon a little deeper into his mouth to illustrate the fact that he would not be sassing us. Of course, it also meant that he hadn't agreed .. but I had a feeling that he would do as he was told ... for once. Aveline and I turned quickly, shuffling lightly across the ground toward the direction Mother had pointed us in. After all, we did not want to alert anyone else with sudden movements and cause a stampede of desperation and fear that would surely result in a massive loss of life.

It was not surprising when Mother's directions brought the two of us to a small half barricade of boxes and barrels, where a group of about four men were standing around, talking. When I heard one of them say the word tokens, I knew we were in the right place.

"... I will -not- charge a sovereign for a service that is usually offered for 10 pieces a person. I don't know about you lot, but I plan to reach the Maker's side one day!"

The voice was surprisingly soft, and yet, somehow authoritative. A young man, couldn't have been more than a year or so older than me, waltzed out from the group of men, who looked less than pleased with the amount of backbone it had taken to stand up to them. Even as the young man began to address me, I saw the first flash of steel, and that is all it took. Aveline and I whirled into action, limbs twisting and spinning as we cut down the group of thugs behind the man's back. Once more, I felt myself bathed in blood .. felt the fresh mingling with the old, and even had a moment to wonder why it was not an earth-shattering feeling as it should have been. I simply wiped my small blade and returned it to it's hiding spot before turning to face the young man who looked on in disbelief, fear, and gratitude.

"I should've know better than to turn my back on men like that. I'm Padraig Lucais, Captain of the Maoil Duin. I can offer you passage on my ship. It's the least I can do for saving my life."

I inhaled softly, and glanced at Aveline for a moment.

"We were glad to help. People have enough problems at the moment without cutthroats making it worse. But, well, we have two more with us; my Mother and Brother."

Padraig nodded thoughtfully and reached into his pocket producing four small round tokens made of a simple metal.

"Take these. All I can offer is space in the cargo hold, but you present these and you four are guaranteed. Excuse me."

And you might say that little port town was the beginning of my need to help people ... or, you might agree with my jackass of a Brother who insists that I have spent the majority of my teenage years helping every bleeding heart that could later turn on us and give me and Bethany over to the Templars. For a guy who doesn't have an -ounce- of magic in him, he spent a lot of time worrying that he'd end in the Circle as well. Hmm .. maybe it's a twin thing .. maybe he was channeling some fear from Bethany. Or, maybe, he's just a twit that had a way of projecting everyone's problems onto himself, making them his own.

I took one of the tokens, handing the other three over to Aveline with a weary smile that barely showed through the blood caked on my face. For one moment, I wondered if I might look like one of the Demons mages are always warned about. If nothing else, I had to look gross and intimidating. Not sure if that was a good thing, and before I could try and find some solution to my state, I realized that the Captain had made it to his ship, and the crew were beginning to call people forward. We rushed to my family, Carver grabbing Mother by the arm to help maneuver her around people that were moving too slow. We managed to make it third in line, and I shouldered my way through a group of thugs to help Mother get a somewhat comfortable spot by one of the struts holding the cargo doors up. When one of the idiots turned to me, violence on his mind, one look at my cold expression and the messy blood, he turned around quickly and kept close to his mates. Guess I was a sight worse than I thought I was.

Finally, with Mother laying down, using Carver's leg as a pillow, and Aveline standing guard a few feet away, I managed a little bit of time to myself .. just long enough to take one of the waterskins I had 'acquired' from the dead merchant into a corner. There, I proceeded to take a bath, after a fashion. I removed my over robe and laid it out on the floor beside me. Aveline was lucky enough to have her Husband's shield, it kept her from becoming the bloody mess I was. As I started to empty the waterskin over my head, I could smell the copper, taste it, even, and I broke. Tears mixed with .. mixed with blood .. mixed with .. the remains .. of my baby sister .. and it was too much. For the first time since the death of my Father, I cried like the child I still sometimes feared I was. The head of my family, an Apostate on the run, now homeless .. and I was weeping like a child. I know that the others could hear me, the cargo hold was surprisingly quiet, shock and trauma sealing the lips of the Ferelden refugees that were no better off than me and my family. So, I was a little surprised when I heard no disgusted insult from Carver, no soft, sobbing worries from my Mother. Though .. I could -feel- Aveline's penetrating gaze on me, and it was far more sobering than any recognition from my Family could be. With a choked sob, I managed to pull myself together and finish cleaning up. I stretched my robes out in the sun, letting the heat dry the water from it.

"Do you think this will be the end of Ferelden, Rivvin?"

The soft, almost timid question from my Brother was enough to have me questioning my sanity. Carver never asked such weighty questions, at least, never of me. I glanced across to where he was sitting, watched as Mother managed to slip into any uneasy sleep despite the heat of the hold.

"Not at all, Carver. The blight will be stopped, and Ferelden will remain to annoy the rest of Thedas for many years to come."

He seemed somehow relieved by the confidence in my voice, and I could only wish I was as easily convinced. Silently, I leaned back against the strut where Aveline rests, watching the sails fluttering in the weak breeze, wondering if Kirkwall would be any better.


	3. I Will Survive

**Chapter 3: I Will Survive**

The monotony of travel day in and day out on the boat seemed broken only by the inevitable discord that began to sweep through the band of refugees that surrounded us. They had gone from catatonic with shock, to a screaming, crying mass that believed their tragedy far more important than any one else in the same boat as them, literally. There were small pockets of half-crazed doomsayers trying to scream louder than all the rest, and for one horrible moment, in the midst of all of it, I -knew- that I had the ability to shut them up. Not -once- did the thought of the power of my magic entice me to use it against them; instead, I thought simply of my knife, and the power of a slit throat, punctured heart, or beheading. In that moment, I knew true power, and it frightened the hell out of me! To know that I could sit there, my Mother cradled in my arms as she slept, Carver curled up next to me making whimpering sounds like my Mabari curled at my heels, and Aveline keeping an ever watchful eye, I daydreamed of all the things I could do to silence those idiots forever, and for the first time in my life, I knew self-born fear. I was terrified of myself. I think, maybe, it was that feeling that kept me solid through the events of the years to come. The others, even Fenris, often had to admit that, despite my status as an Apostate, I did not trek with Demons, I did not glory in the ability to enter the Fade, did not seek power to enhance my magic and make me stronger, better, fiercer. The first time Fenris looked me in the eye and told me I was - different-, it's a moment I'll never forget.

It was the first time since my Father's death that I felt life might be worth surviving after all.

The sound of a rogue rigging drew me from my thoughts and I peered upward, to watch a massive circle of wood pass overhead, casting a shadow down, into the cargo hold. The sails that had only moments ago been drawn taut as they funneled the winds to keep us going were made limp, and I could feel the ship easing back .. which could mean only one thing. We were about to dock. As I looked around, I saw that no one else had drawn the conclusion, or even noticed.

**"Mother .."** I whispered softly against her ear, and she made a sad little sound in the back of her throat that made me think of a baby about to protest in the only way it knew how; loudly**. "Shh, it's alright. I can feel the boat slowing, we're about to be docking. I'm going to move us closer to the ramp." **As careful as I could, I picked her up, delicately lowered her feet to the floor and helped her move closer to the ramp that would give us freedom from the fetid stench and heat of the cargo hold. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I can hear the echoing steps of Aveline and Carver following behind. Poor Carver, even as I struggled to hold our Mother upward, I could feel his resentment burning like a beacon from behind me. While I worried over Mother's sanity, I know he was thinking about the shadow cast behind me and onto him as he followed. I could feel his aching need to say something mean and insulting, but I have a feeling that Aveline cast one of those disapproving looks at him. I know they had the power to make me feel like a chastised child standing in front of a Grand Cleric, so there is no telling what it did to my little brother.

There is almost no words to describe the experience of pulling up between the cliffs that lead into Kirkwall and -seeing- the Twins standing guard. A shaft of sunlight glinted off of their massive hands as they lay pressed against their eyes. My mind immediately went to so many symbolism of those hands; the quintessential slaves who become nameless, without identity .. it even made me think of Mages, chained for their own 'protection.' I once heard an Apostate say that it was the inevitable direction of the Chantry. One day, they would chain us all to destroy that which they fear most; our power. But it also reminded me of the childish statement I had used more than once in my young life .. If I can't see it, it's not there. It had always been my mental approach to the demons in the Fade; if I couldn't see them, they weren't there, and I would -always- be safe.

It took three days, once we exited the ship and spoke to a City Guard, to get in touch with my Mother's brother Gamlen. Yes, I know that the familial tie should have me calling the man Uncle, but honestly, I refuse to believe my Mother is actually kin to something so slithering and slimy as the man that she calls brother. My first thought upon seeing the dirty, decrepit man that my Mother hugged so desperately was to wonder what sewer-hole he managed to climb from long enough to 'grace' Mother with his revolting presence. And while it might seem like a harsh view of the man, trust me, he is nothing more than a cowardly, moneygrubbing whoremonger! That aside, he did at least -try- to help us get a way into the city .. he sold us into a form of indentured slavery. I was literally told to pick one of two evils and serve them for a year if I wanted to buy our way into the city. Carver, Aveline, and myself were to choose who would hold our debt, who would control our lives for exactly one year to the day. Suddenly, the plight of the Elves of Thedas was made a little more personal to me.

As per usual, the others seemed to leave the decision up to me, and I found myself having to consider the ups and downs of both situations. This was not a situation in which I could fail to decide, or simply close my eyes and hope for the best. And unfortunately, as I tried to pick between mercenary and smuggler, that single taste of power I remembered from the Merchant came back to haunt me, and I found myself seeking out the scruffy leader of the Red Iron ... Meeran. Everything about the greasy man reminded me unfavorably of Camlen, but it was a job, a means to an end. The means, money and work, the end, entry into Kirkwall and the furthered protection of my Mother. Carver, Aveline and I could take care of ourselves if push came to shove, but Mother needed some kind of permanent place to stay, before her grief sent her to an early grave.

**"Here now .. you must be the Nephew Gamlen spoke of. If you prove yourself, I'm sure you're well worth the investment."**

Such a 'glowing' review did little to convince me that any of this was such a good idea, but Lothering was lost, and we had nowhere else to go.

**"There's an upstart of a Nobleman in the Gallows .. his name is Friedrich. He fucked me over with some bad information. Kill him, and you're in the Red Iron. We take care of our own."**

I winced inwardly at the prospect of killing a Nobleman, but that deeper, darker part of me wondered if it would be easy. Would it be a challenge? Could I best him with steel, or would I have to rely on my magic? Without thinking of the action, my hand slipped backward, fingers stroking the ironbark of my staff. It was innocent, looked more like a blade than a staff, and there was a sense of exhilaration through me. I could do this. I could kill Friedrich for whatever harm he had caused, and give my family the stepping stone needed to enter Kirkwall. That's all that mattered ... right?

We turned as a unit, operated as if we had been friends that grew up sparring in Ferelden. Aveline was to my right, one hand on her sword, her shield already strapped to her arm. Carver was slightly to my left and behind, already working his bastard sword from the scabbard at his back. We meant business, for good or for bad, we were prepared.

Friedrich was as oily as most Noblemen that had no problems backstabbing to make a few bits. He was standing close to a small band of thugs, no doubt muscle for hire, muttering in pompous tones about checking the courtyard, checking, checking ... obviously, he knew that he had fucked up, and that retribution was eminent. At this point, we three looked like little more than scruffy refugees half starved with the strenuous journey to reach the city. Their arrogance was our way in.

**"Friedrich?"**

I called out in a silken voice. The Nobleman's head snapped up and his body turned around, and that was all we need. A jolt of ice hit him square in the chest, and I watched with a horrified fascination as it traveled up his body, freezing him in place. I could read the terror in his features, and it spurned me onward. I shot another burst of cold damage at the surrounding thugs and watched as they scattered, making it easier for Aveline and carver to pick them off. As they did that, I pulled the small knife from my pocket and threw it with a Rogue's precision, despite being a Mage. I watched as the knife point dug straight int his head, watched as the frozen slab of his brittle body exploded into a thousand pieces and fell to the courtyard floor. With a sad sigh, I walked forward to claim my knife, slid it into my pocket, and grabbed the proof that I needed to show Meeran that we had finished the job. One look at my friends, and my stomach turned to mush. They were covered in blood, and for once, I wasn't. I was clean. Except for the fact that I had frozen and shattered a man into a thousand dead pieces. Power is wrong. That is the lesson I learned that day.

And some people deserve to die. Unfortunately, that is another lesson I learned that day. Some people deserve to die. And I just pray, when it is my turn to stand before the Maker and defend my life, I find out Friedrich truly was one of them.

I turned the evidence into Meeran and he welcomed the three of us into the Red Iron, and told us he would pay to have us enter the city immediately. I started that first year walking a thin line between justice and murder. It is not something I'm proud of, but it is something I had to do all the same. You cannot take a person by the hand and offer to walk before them in life, and make it all better. No amount of love can change a person .. I learned that the hard way. But I -also- learned that a person can start on a dark path and then make it better for themselves, and that is exactly what I did. Not everyone is so lucky, I guess.

Halfway through our year of indentured servitude, we found ourselves accepting a rather dodgy mission from Meeran. He promised that he would pay us for this one; four sovereigns a piece. Not to mention anything we found during our mission. It should have made me suspicious, I should have known better! But it was getting cold, we needed food, blankets, so many small little things that would help ensure we made it through the Winter. So, in the end, though Meeran gave me the chance to refuse for a change .. I took the job. I told Carver and Aveline they didn't have to come, if they didn't want to, but they both insisted. Apparently, they didn't think me capable of doing it on my own, and maybe they were right. With the way things turned out .. it was Destiny that brought us that mission, not just Meeran's anger and greed.


	4. Whispers in the Dark

**Chapter 4: Whispers In The Dark**

_**Lowtown, The Hanged Man - Late night**_

The stench of sea water mixes with stale smoke and the putrid aroma of the sewers rising up through grates that lead into the bowels of Darktown and the Undercity. The streets of Lowtown are usually nearly empty in the wee hours of the morning, nothing but roving gangs bullying the poor still roam the streets. Well, that and a few drunks stumbling away from the Hanged Man bar, belching and scratching themselves in inappropriate places as most drunks do. Even a few would sing obnoxious, slurred nonsense at the top of their lungs. Those were the ones most likely to get jumped and robbed .. if not worse. Sometimes, I thought of following them home, making sure they were okay, but there were simply too many of them. And I am sure there were better ways to try and scrub my guilty conscience clean.

Why am I guilty, you ask? Because, I'm not so stupid or naive as to believe that the jobs I did for Meeran were legal, ethical, or any thing of the sort. I know I killed people that had loving families, killed people that had done terrible things .. but that does not completely justify what I did. I could sit here, as I write this, and use every excuse in the book; I only hurt bad people, I only killed people to right their wrongs, I was just looking out for my family. But, if what happened to the Chantry taught me anything, it's that JUSTICE is not always the answer. We have law and order for a reason, and no matter what justification, what good may come of it, the taking of life is not our decision to make. A battlefield of broken bodies should never be the stepping stone to a better way of life. It -can't- be. Spilled blood is not the way to change, at least, not for the better. War begets more war.

But enough of that for now. On with the story.

Meeran had given me the details of the mission, the offer of more than enough money to see us all through the winter, and I had done the only thing I could; called a meeting of my entourage. Ugh, if I had ever actually used that word within earshot, I wouldn't have had to worry about Carver coming after me, Aveline would have beaten him to kicking my ass. But still, in so many ways, the word seems to fit. I do not mean to seem arrogant or anything like that, but they had a habit of putting me first, of putting me front and centre in the spotlight so that they did not have to make the tough decisions. They followed my whim, for good or for bad, so entourage really does work at times.

"Hawke."

As per usual, Aveline's voice, though soft, held a thread of steel and affection that seemed to war with duty and what she thought to be the 'right' of things. The world was black and white to Aveline, with no room for shades of grey. Law is king and if you believe in it hard enough, it would never let you down. Bullshit, of course, but there was no reason to tarnish her outlook on things. Just because I held no hope for anything, didn't give me the right to destroy her's .. no matter how jealous I was of her ability to still -believe- in something. At that point, my only concern was survival.

"Aveline."

I drawled her name in a slow, lazy way that always drew a look of mildly amused disdain. That's the thing about me .. I'm easy to love and hate all at the same time. And Aveline was fond of me, but she hated me at times as well .. because I am the living, breathing grey area that so many want to forget exists. I am the reminder that things are very rarely what they appear, and that no matter how much you pretend otherwise, the world is not a safe and happy place.

The Circle has broken, and it can no longer save you.

"Brother."

Carver spat the term from betwixt lips already flushed from the overabundance of alcohol he had been slinging back. Corff, the bartender and far too good a man at times, had extended him a tab. I had a feeling his share of the profits, if he chose to go, would go toward paying off that debt. I'd be damned if I took food out of Mother's mouth, or blankets off myself to pay for his drink problem! The lad had to learn to grow up sooner or later.

"-Little- Brother."

Ok, so I can be an ass. I had to emphasize the little part of it to get one over on the pompous fool. I could almost feel him bristling, gearing up to get ready for a good old fashion tussle. I keep trying to tell him drunken brawling should be saved for strangers, but you've probably gotten a good idea how much he refused to listen.

"Sit down and be quiet."

Aveline snapped softly, before Carver could really get into his 'I hate my brother' routine. He tossed a sneer toward the woman before he managed to shove himself into a chair at the table I had reserved for a few minutes. Norah came sauntering over, a few mugs of ale in hand, and sat them to the table with a clatter and an angry scowl at Carver. Great, another -tab- he still needed to work off. Ugh.

"Cheers, Norah."

I offered, trying to give some sentiment of thanks and apologize for my idiot of a brother without being too obvious about it. She spared me a glance of sad understanding before she ran off to continue work. I grabbed one of the warm mugs and downed the swill in two giant gulps that left my lips and chin wet. Aveline looked on with her usual stern disapproval, and I could do nothing more than wipe the liquid from my chin with the back of my sleeve. How civilized.

"What are we doing here, Hawke?"

Her words were soft, but there was that usual insistence that was almost an order to get on with business. And yet, somehow, we were friends. It is a friendship I will never be able to understand, or even define. I was blessed to have her .. cursed as well. But then, that can be said about everyone I called friend. Call. Not called. I have to believe that they will forgive me, or understand, or .. or maybe I'm just a fool, clinging to sentimentality because I don't have many options left.

"You mean besides watching my brother make a drunken ass of himself?"

I drawled lightly, watching Carver struggle through a mug of ale, getting liquid and foam everywhere.

"Hawke."

Aveline's mutter of my family name was impatient, and I knew by the tone that she was losing patience quicker still. It usually meant I had about five minutes before we got in a fight, she insisted I do it alone, and then went along with me anyway. It was a routine .. comfortable, ridiculous, but routine. It's amazing what people will sometimes do merely to cling to what is comfortable, familiar. I just don't know anymore. I used to have an opinion of people that wasn't skewed or warped, but .. it's been so long since I had the luxury of hope, faith, or belief.

"Meeran has a job. A paying job. The cut is four sovereigns -a piece-. Carver, if you agree to go, it -will- be with the understanding that you will pay off your debts, not incur more."

My brother gave me a scathing look that could melt ice from a hundred paces, and I merely looked back with that challenging, cool gaze that eventually cowed him. He gave the barest nod of his head, and that was all that mattered. He would honor it, or I would kick his ass. Simple as that. One of the only simple things in my life, even way back then.

"The target is a woman in Hightown. She's running some kind of scam, and has employed City Guards to protect her when they're off duty. They know it's wrong, but they seem to work for her anyway."

Aveline's anger was near explosive, despite the fact that she seemed quiet at that moment. She was stewing, seething inside, and I could feel it. Corruption amongst those that were supposed to protect the populace was her biggest pet peeve. Who could blame her? If you couldn't trust those that were supposed to protect you .. then you couldn't trust anyone.

"I'm in."

Aveline's agreement wasn't surprising, though the words were mumbled through clenched teeth. I could even see a muscle jump in her jaw, accentuating her anger in a tangible way. She was a pillar of strength even in her anger.

"Sure, Brother. I have nothing better to do that is life threatening and asinine .."

Carver muttered with half a mouth of ale, making the words sound watery and ... wrong. It made me think of blood .. of a pierced lung or slit throat. Hell, it even reminded me of the noises Ser Wesley made as Aveline plunged the dagger into his heart. It was the sort of morbid thing that hindsight would call a portent of things to come. Out of spite, and the sort of anger that sleepless nights and poverty bring, I reached out lightening quick and thumped him on the back, forcing him to swallow the ale down the wrong way. As he coughed and spluttered to clear his air way, I leaned back in my chair.

"Good, then we're all in agreement. One more drink for the road, for me and Aveline not you Carver, and then we're off to Hightown."

As I gave them the basic rundown of everything that would happen, I started to get this strange feeling; someone was watching me. I glanced up the stairs toward the rooms that were for rent, and the very first room, across from the stairs, was totally dark, and yet .. for one moment, I thought I saw eyes in the darkness. But, before I could even think of going up the stairs to check on the darkness and possible eyes, I felt something else was wrong. A hand. Reaching for my coin purse. I kicked before without thought, just reacting to instinct, and was not surprised when my heel connected with a leg. As the man fell, I reached up to grab him at the nape of the neck, slamming his forehead down on the table beside my drinks. He grunted and gurgled as my fingers pressed tightly against the sides of his neck.

"Try it again, and you're dead. Go."

I shoved him away, his body thudding heavily on the ground before he gained his feet and wobbled away. Once I knew my money was secure, I turned back to the other two. I no longer felt as if someone might be looking at me from the shadows, nor did I really care. I had just threatened someone without a second thought to the action .. it scared me. It made me question; what was I becoming?

_**Hightown, Courtyard - Night**_

In the end, Aveline and I ordered two fresh drinks and never took a single sip from either mug. What was the point? No amount of ale would make what we were about to do better. We both knew we were entering into the middle of this with a 'No Prisoners' mentality, and that never really settled well with either of us .. so, we both ended up pushing our drinks away and hauling Carver to his feet so that we could get a leg on. You probably wonder why we were willing to take a nearly falling down drunk with us when we were expecting trouble .. it's simple, really; Carver was an ass, and an idiot, but he was more than capable at fighting, no matter what state he was in. He was a warrior, through and through.

The streets of Hightown were quiet at night, with the occasional bold as brass group of idiots trying to climb their way out of Lowtown by bullying and robbing the rich folks. It was one thing that unified High and Low .. crime. And unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried to sugar coat it all to myself .. we were doing nothing more than adding more crime in the midst of it all .. crime for the better, but crime all the same. We were oft times no better than those we fought against.

The sound of a shutter quivering in a faint breeze, banging against it's molding. It put me on edge before there was any need to be. My fingers had long since folded back against the oh so familiar grip of my staff, something I had considered an old friend since the day my Father had it fashioned for me. I knew that it was a silly notion, sentimentality over something that would see me captured and thrown into the Circle at the Gallows, but I couldn't help it. I loved my Father, and it had been a gift that he said made me special. Not cursed, disgusting, dangerous .. but SPECIAL. I knew that Carver would rather I snap it in half, would rather I let it go than allow it to implement me at some point. But then, I knew for a -fact- that Carver had the ornamental carving of Andraste's visage that had once been the bottom of Bethany's staff. As we were busy dealing with Flemeth, he had snuck to his twin sister's body and snapped the end of the staff off. He was allowed his sentimentality, but I was expected to give mine up. Whatever.

"Hawke."

Aveline's usually barely soft tone came out as a gentle whisper to gain my attention, letting me know that I had strayed too far into my thoughts and that trouble was eminent. She was always cool like that. She could advise without judgement .. for the most part. Sometimes, she had to let her anger and frustration out, and it usually came in the form of questioning why I didn't do -more-. She somehow didn't think I did enough while I was busy doing everything I could to pick up the slack of the Templars, Chantry, City Guard, and day-to-day goings on of Kirkwall. It was the only thing that had the power to make me borderline hate her; that she had the guts to lecture me on doing my part for Kirkwall. That she could flat out say I wasn't doing enough, despite doing more than she and her trumpt up guard could ever do.

If her voice hadn't been enough to draw me from my thoughts, the sudden clatter of metal, and the burning sensation up my side was enough to snap me back to reality.

"S-something's wrong ...!"

I had never heard Aveline sound so scared, so unsure .. and I had -never- felt such pain before.


	5. Scar Tissue

**Chapter 4 - Scar Tissue**

Pain is a funny thing .. not ha ha funny, of course, but more .. it makes you consider things you would otherwise never think about. Like the fact that my life has been lived for my family, never a single decision made to benefit myself without wondering how it will effect them. I had never once given my life to an actual cause, it was always just doing my best to help keep my family free of the Templars, and Bethany out of the Circle. Secretly, I used to think about going to the Circle willingly ... giving myself up so that they would think I was the only Apostate and leave Bethany and my family alone. But that's not the only reason I thought of doing it .. I hoped to be free of my family. How horrible is that! The guilt of that realization nearly ate me alive as I stood there.

Maybe it was the guilt, that self reprimand that jostled me awake enough to realize that something wet, warm, and gummy was currently spilling down my side, dripping down my legs. For a moment, it felt as if someone were dripping hot wax and molten iron down my side, it burned so badly! And then, I was seized with a feeling of blissful numbness, my own magic kicking in to heal me somewhat. I was, by no means, a healer, mind you, but it seemed some long repressed ability decided to rear it's head for that single moment and spare me the overwhelming pain that probably would've lead to mistakes and the possibility of death.

Of course, for all I knew, death was still an inevitability that I would never escape.

"Hawke!"

Aveline's gritty growl of my name suddenly sounds strange; far away, drowned out by the sound of something rushing through my ears. It's the sound of my own blood rushing mixed with adrenaline, and I know that one of two things will soon happen. I will engage in the greatest fight of my life, even greater than the Ogre that took so much from me; or I am about to die, right on the spot. And unfortunately, sadly, I am not sure which truth I would rather come to pass. Death or life. Once, seems so long ago, that would have been no choice. I would have fought to live for all that I was worth. But now? It is a choice I wish to stop and think about.

But there is no stopping in this moment. To stop is to die.

From the wall dead ahead of us, at the end of the Estate district in Hightown, there is a wall with a small passage carved out of it. If you do not look close, you will miss it. From that passage, over two dozen guardsmen appeared, pouring out like ants from an anthill, prepared to devour anything that stood in their way. That would be us. One of the first people to appear is holding a long, willowy bow, fitting a small, slender, deadly arrow. I glance down and around, seeing the arrow sticking out from my side, identifying the source of blood and pain, and my anger is near explosive.

"I... will not... be... toyed with!"

The mass of energy that flows from me is a release I had never dreamed of .. a freedom that originated in my very blood and guts. A freedom for an instinct I had been taught to keep reigned in my entire life. For that single second, I had a glimpse of overwhelming clarity that let me understand why Mages could be tempted. And in that moment, I knew it was a temptation that would destroy the world if allowed to run free. At the same time, I realized that the Templars had made a grave mistake. By keeping such power under lock and key so to speak, they were condemning Mages to become Abominations! They did not offer control, mere suppression, and eventually every Mage ever born was going to snap and fall prey to that suppressed power. Templars, the Chantry, they all had it wrong. But Mages were not entirely right, either.

Of course, those few moments of existential thought caused me further injury, feeling another arrow skin my side, but thankfully, zip right past, deflected well enough that I might only have a thin cut to remind me of my stupidity. As the next arrow whistled through the air, my staff knocks it away and I lose myself in that rush of power. Chain lightening rushes from my staff, fireballs explode, lighting the square as enemy after enemy falls to my power.

Once silence has fallen on the world around us, the mix of magic and adrenaline pass and I am left feeling limp and useless. A strong arm encircles my waist, and for a moment, I think that Aveline has done as she always does; taken charge of the situation. So, imagine my surprise when the brother filled with nothing but hate and contempt speaks softly into my ear, struggling to help hold me up.

"Don't worry, Brother. I've got you."

Ok, I can't lie. The kinship between Carver and I is so strained that the first thought to cross my mind isn't that he actually cares, it's that one of us must be suffering from a concussion, or spell or something equally influential, that might account for unnatural behavior. Because not only does he seem to genuinely care, but I throw my arm around his shoulder and offer him a pained little smile.

"I know you have, Carver. I trust you."

Those last three little words had never left my mouth, especially where my chip-on-the-shoulder little brother is concerned. And yet, here I was speaking them with quiet vehemence, meaning them for all that I am worth. Of course, later, I could just as easily deny it for all that I am worth as well. It was the heat of combat, a scrambled brain, a stray spell that had left me out of my mind. There would always be an excuse, unfortunately. A fact that would later bite me in the ass. But that would be getting far ahead of myself.

Despite giving my brother that vote of confidence, I immediately pulled away, amidst his protesting and Aveline's intense gaze that seemed to bore into me with that silent, but nonetheless overwhelming, disapproval. Honestly, her disapproval was worse than my Mum's, and she had the ability to cow me in two seconds flat. However, this once, I did not even pay attention to her scathing, authoritative gaze. I forced myself to wobble rather gracelessly toward the leader of the fallen Guards. It was a young woman, roughly the same age as me, though her features were tougher, from a life lived harder than my own. Or so I assume. After all, she could've just been fuck-ugly for all I know. Maybe it was kinder to assume. I'm not sure.

I turned her over, the coppery scent of blood released in an aromatic cloud that turned my stomach and nearly had me inadvertently sullying the dead woman, but I managed to hold back as I began to search her pockets. Meeran said that he was looking for something specific, a list of names that were vital, but that anything else on the woman was mine. So, the first order of business was to cut her coin purse free, second order of business was to have Carver collect the finer looking weapons he could stow in his rucksack, before I finally found the piece of paper. And surprise surprise, no wonder Meeran was willing to pay so much, since the list of names were some of the top dogs in the Coterie, as well as their location. However, it was a hit list, and smack dab at the top of it was old Meeran himself, as well as the location of the Red Iron headquarters. No wonder he was so anxious, and no wonder he was willing to pay out the ass to get this job done.

I had expected Aveline to have made her presence a little more known, to be squawking and grousing at us to hurry up, to be casting those disapproving glances in our direction as we looted the dead. So imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw her hovering over one of the bodies. She had ripped the helmet off of a particularly stocky looking young man and was searching him for something. She pulls a dagger out and tosses it to the side for now, still scowling with a quiet sort of fury that I would never admit scares the shit out of me.

"Guardsmen. These are actual guardsmen! What happened to honor amongst the guard!"

She spits the words, verbal venom that leaves my skin crawling far more than the pain ever could. She stands suddenly, and turns, kicking the dagger so hard that it spins across the ground and disappears through the gap the baddies had poured through in the first place. The sound of metal against stone sets my teeth to grinding, and I must force myself to glance back down toward the body I was in the midst of looting. Once I had everything I needed, I managed to regain my feet.

"Come on, Aveline, we need to - Aveline!"

When I glanced up, she was gone. Just like that. Carver's arm found it's way around me once more and we turned, limping away from the scene of our crime. It was justice, swift and sure, but at the same time, it came with consequences none of us could have foreseen. I realized that I had to start looking at the world a little clearer, Carver realized that he needed to find his truth path. And Aveline? Well ..

It took the Red Iron physician fifteen stitches to sew me up, Meeran paid us in full what was owed, and the next day, we found out that Aveline declined payment and joined the City Guard. Apparently, the corruption had become too much for her to over look.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Sorry it took me so long to update, and that it's not quite as good as the other chapters. I promise I will soon get back in the swing of things now that I'm feeling better.<p>

Hope everyone enjoys it, and thank you for your patience!


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